Loaded Dice
by snowflurry
Summary: Race and the newsies unsuspectingly get caught up in the brewing mafia through the temptation of a sicilian baker's assistant, and Spot Conlon's hot temper [Race paring, mafia R&R pls!]
1. Chapter 1

Skittery paused in mid step- so quickly that Kid Blink and Mush had no time to stop, and rammed into him at full speed. They collapsed in a cursing heap in front of the bakery.

"What the hell, Skittery?" Blink yowled, extracting himself from the tangle of arms and limbs, collecting his papers where they had scattered across the wet sidewalk.

Skittery crawled over to the bakery window, peering inside. "I'm goin' crazy."

"Finally," Mush chuckled, "The rest of us have known that for a while."

Skittery beckoned him over to the window, and Mush obliged with a roll of his eyes.

"D' you see her?" Skittery whispered.

"Who?" Blink asked from the curb, shuffling his papers and crouching down beside them.

"The girl behind the baker."

Blink narrowed his eyes, "Skittery, how can you see around the baker?"

Mush nodded appreciatively. "Not bad for a dirt poor immigrant."

"You saw her," Skittery breathed, "I'm not crazy."

"I still can't see around the baker," Blink growled, shoving his face between Skittery and Mush. After another moment of squinting with his one good eye, he made a noise of realization. "Pretty…but so very Italian!"

Mush leaned forward again, and then twisted his mouth as he formed a new opinion. "You know, Skit, her face looks hoity-toity-" He fended off Skittery's accusatory gaze, "Lookit her nose! It's all pointy and important!"

"What are you'se bozos staring at?" Racetrack's heavy accent made the three boys head's whip around, and suddenly the other boy found himself dragged down to the sidewalk, three sets of hands plastered over his mouth.

"The baker's got a new assistant," Skittery explained in a low voice.

"So?"

"So look at 'er!" Skittery urged.

Race gave them a 'dear god you are stupid' look, and peeped into the window. His face smoothed out, though, when he caught sight of the assistant, and his eyes widened. "You didn't say it was a Sicilian girl!" He choked out, and Kid Blink cocked his head to one side.

"How'd you know that, Race?"

Racetrack stood up again, seemingly recovered from his surprise. "What'sit to you, Blink? We's got papes to sell, fellas."

Mush stood up, lending Blink a hand. Skittery glanced at the girl longingly one last time, and then followed the other boys.

"Carryin' the banner." He sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

The rain came down in torrents as newsies scattered across the square, hugging their 'papes' close to keep them dry, rushing off in different directions to hawk the headlines and make what little money they could.

Racetrack loitered on the bakery steps, watching the newsies disperse through the fall weather before ducking inside.

The air was thick with flour and the smell of baking pastries; a window displayed various debacles and loaves of golden-brown bread. The baker glared at Race from under his poofy white hat, looking somewhat ridiculous, but threatening nonetheless.

" 'Mornin, your majesty," Race said with a crooked smile.

"Higgins," The old man growled, "haven't you got another job yet?"

"Nonsense, sir. Sellin' papes is fine for me – wanna buy one?"

A ragtag, undernourished girl with long black hair emerged from the oven room, her face flushed from the baking heat. She brushed flour off her apron and began arranging the pastry window.

The baker noted Race's distracted gaze, and smirked. "Gimme a paper, Higgins."

His attention restored to its proper place, Race handed the baker a paper from his stack of 50, and the old man placed a penny in his hand.

"Thank you, your lordship," Race said around his cigar, and the baker rolled his eyes before ducking back into the oven room.

A heavy silence mingled with the powdery air, and Race shifted his weight from left to right, not daring to look up at the girl placing cakes in the window display. He stood with one hand in his pocket, and the other holding his cigar as he took one long drag, before he stubbed it out and put it in his vest pocket for later. She was humming a fast, tarantella tune, and unbeknownst to Racetrack, was smiling at him.

"May I offer you a coffee?" She asked, her Italian accent hardly noticeable except where she put the emphasis in 'coffee'.

Race looked up, wearing a dark smile. "Yeah, sure."

She began to bustle about behind the counter, and he leaned forward to watch her prepare his drink. "Hey – what's your name?"

She looked up from pouring the steaming liquid, and offered him a small smile. "Gianna Divio. What's yours?"

Race felt nervous under her glaze, and squelched the desire to light up his cigar again. "I'm Race – Racetrack."

Gianna wrinkled her too-pointy nose. "How unusual." She pushed a white porcelain cup, brimming with dark, hot coffee.

Race thought for a second that the cup of black, more importantly, free, coffee was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, rivaling the few times when his 'hot tips' had actually paid off.

"I'm a newsie- all newsies have nicknames," he explained absently, as his hands moved of their own accord and cupped the warm mug, drawing it towards him.

Gianna leaned on the counter, picking at her fingernails. "Nickname," she tried out the word, rolling it on her tongue as if it were completely foreign. "Then what's your real name?"

Race shrugged. "Doesn't really matter." He nursed the coffee cup, supping slowly – how often did he get free coffee, after all?"

There was a loud curse from the oven room that made Gianna jump, and rush back to help the yelping baker.

Race paused for a second, considered his paper and gulped down the coffee. "Thanks!" he called pointlessly, and nipped out the door.

Race waited a day before sneaking into the bakery again, making sure Skittery didn't' see him. This time, Gianna greeted him with a smile.

"I can't give you anymore coffee," she apologized, "The baker got mad at me last time."

Race pulled a chair away from the little round customer's table, and sat next to the counter. "I though he might'a. I came to pay you back."

"Coffees cost two cents." She leaned forward, resting her forearms beside a plate of éclairs. Race looked at her out of the corner of his eye – her cheeks were too thin and her lips were chapped, but she maintained the Sicilian dark grace that he admired.

He nodded expectantly, and placed one of his newspapers in front of her. "That'll pay for half, And I guess the pleasure of my company'll just have to make up for the other penny," he said, shrugging in mock-seriousness.

Gianna turned the newspaper towards her, and studied the front page.

"There's a story on page six you might like."

She was about to flip to the story, when the baker barreled out from the oven room, glaring at Race. "Gianna, you need to get back to work."

"You can't go!" Race protested, "I ain't finished payin' you back yet!"

"She can," The baker growled, "and has to go, Higgins."

"Come back later," she urged, forgetting the American concept of personal space and touching his arm.

Race winked and hoped doff his chair, "I'll make like a tree and leave, then."

Gianna smiled at him, and turned back to the baker.


	3. Chapter 3

That night Jack was waiting for Race on the lodging house steps, smoking and looking worried.

"The bakery havin' a sale or somethin'?" He asked as the younger newsie stopped greet him.

Race shrugged, and sat down. "Not that," he paused to light up a cigarette, "I've been informed of, why?"

"You been getting' strong hankerin's for little chocolate cakes lately?"

Race narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, just love 'em. Buy 'em with all this extra money I got." He shook his empty pockets to prove his point.

Jack sighed, and pulled the brim of his hat down. "You'se just been spendin' a lot of time over at the bakery, Race."

"No I hasn't. And so what if I was?" Race began setting up a game of solitaire with the deck of cards he carried perpetually in his pocket.

"So you know that Skittery's got his eyes on the girl that works there – he's gettin' kinda suspicious."

Race looked up at jack, a fleeting defensive expression crossed his pale face, before his smooth poker mask fell into place. "C'mon, Jackie. Anyways, Skittery gets it for a new girl ever few weeks."

"Just," Jack tipped his hat back, "Be careful with Skittery," he warned, and made his way up the steps.

"She's Sicilian, Jack," Race said suddenly, as if that explained everything.

Jack stopped, and watched Racetrack take a forlorn drag on his cigarette. "She gave me coffee."

Jack nodded, and ducked inside, leaving Race to his cigarettes and solitaire.

Sheepshead had been muddy and bitterly cold, but Race walked back with the pleasant jingle of a few won bets in his pocket. Shops were closing with the waning light, and clouds rolled menacingly over the September sky.

Race sucked on his cigar, the hot smoke lending him a little warmth. He scanned the square for a moment, leaning against the brick wall. He was exhausted, hungry and his shoes were covered in cold mud from wading around the bay in the rain. The bakery still had one light on, and he could dimly see the shadowy movements of a pointy-nosed girl.

With a brief smile, stunted by the icy air he jogged over, rubbing his arms against the cold. "Gianna," He called, and knocked on the window.

She started, almost dropping her broom, and then registered recognition and opened the door. "Hi."

Race leaned against the doorframe, and smirked crookedly. At night he couldn't see her skin stretched tight over her cheekbones, and her dark eyes dominated her face.

"I saved some old bread for you all. Some of those boys look so hungry." She handed him a squashy brown bag.

"One of the guys I know is kinda stuck on you," He blurted out suddenly, taking off his hat.

"Yeah?" She asked, "Who?"

Race looked sideways, lukewarm guilt bubbling in his stomach. "Tall, crazy hair. I just wanted to warn ya."

She smiled, and stared at her hands, her black hair shifting off her shoulders, "Why you worried?"

Race shrugged, and tugged his hat back on. "Just watchin' out for you."

"I'm almost done," Gianna said, looking up with a small smile on her face, "you should go."

"As you wish signorina, buona notte." He bowed a little.

"Ciao, bambino," Gianna beamed despite her bedraggled appearance, and closed the door with a soft _clack_.

Race turned around, wearing the ghost of a smile and suddenly not feeling so cold.


	4. Chapter 4

Poker that night seemed pointless: none of them had any _real_ money. So they were betting marbles or tobacco or dares. Jack, Specs, Mush and Race sat on a bunk near the window, a single lamp burning on the windowsill. Skittery dangled from the bunk above them, reading his cards upside-down. The brown bread bag, after going through the younger boys, had found its way to the center of the circle of boys, and every so often a hand would reach in and scoop out some crumbs.

"Fold," Mush sighed, throwing down his cards and staring expectantly at the other boys. Skittery groaned, "Yeah, me too."

Race peered out of his poker mask at Jack and Specs, whose glasses reflected the light and dashed it in Race's eyes.

Jack placed a marble in the center of the circle.

"I see your bet, and raise you two," Race said, placing three marbles on the mattress.

Specs frowned. "Raise one more." He placed four marbles in the circle.

"Aw," Jack muttered, "I ain't got no more."

"So bet a dare, Jackie," Mush urged.

Jack shrugged. "Alright then. So what's my dare, fellas?"

"Run naked through the square!" Skitter joked wildly.

Race rolled his eyes, "Jack's had to do that so much everybody in the square knows what his bare ass looks like."

"You got a better idea?" the tall boy snapped back, and Race blew smoke at him, trying to ignore the guilt sloshing in his stomach.

"Tell Dave you wanna 'go further than kissing' with his sister," Specs suggested rapidly, his eyes glinting.

Jack's jaw dropped, as the other players laughed their approval.

"C'mon," He said, astounded, "that's cruel!"

"A bet's a bet!" Specs cackled.

"Ok, I'm outta marbles too," Race admitted hesitantly, "but I ain't runnin' through the square in this weather – no way."

"I got one for you, Racey," Mush said mischievously, "You tell us about the little reason you've been smilin' and starin' into space so much lately."

There was a collective noise of suspense and scandal.

"That's your dare." Jack winked.

Specs laughed. "You two's getting' to competitive for me – I fold."

"Call," Jack said decisively, and laid down his cards with a grin – three of a kind.

Race's jaw dropped – he's been so sure Jack was bluffing!

"Alright, Race, 'fess up!" Skittery demanded.

"I really dunno what you'se is talkin' about. I ain't actin' any different from normal."

"Sure," Mush interjected, "'Sept you'se got a girl!"

Someone gasped.

"C'mon." Race leaned pack, puffing on his cigar.

"Ok, maybe not yet, but you'se got someone in mind."

Jack was watching the conversation with his arms crossed, purposefully avoiding Skittery's glance.

"I ain't even shown my hand yet and you'se guys are interrogatin' me!"

"That her?" Mush grinned, leaning back against the window. Race automatically leaned forward, and saw a little old nun waddling across the square.

"The hell it is." He shoved Mush, who was laughing riotously.

"It's none of your damn business, alright?" Race said, arching his eyebrows sitting back down, collecting his poker hand.

Skittery grinned, "I knew it. You'se got a girl."

"'Bout time, too," Mush said, sitting back down, "We were startin' to think all you was interested in was horses."

"Yeah," Specs laughed, "Horses and poker. And I hear they're pretty bad in bed."

Race rolled his eyes, "Hey, at least I'm good at what I do." He laid down his card, "Straight flush, palies."

Jack groaned.


End file.
